


Let Me Be Your Shelter

by azhdarchidaen



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Found Family, Gen, Major Character Injury, Sentimentality as a result of concussions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-15
Updated: 2018-01-15
Packaged: 2019-03-05 00:11:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13376001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/azhdarchidaen/pseuds/azhdarchidaen
Summary: Grog and Percy go on a scouting mission. Things, as they are wont to do, go wrong. In the midst of the fallout, Grog contemplates being a protector, and Percy remembers.Written entirely because the line "It's nice having an older brother again" in Ep 85 made me cry.





	Let Me Be Your Shelter

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone, I once again got emotional about an episode and felt an inescapable urge to write fic about it even though I know of no places for this to fit in canon (since it probably needs to be post-Whitestone arc) and haven't even finished the series yet. Forgive me.
> 
> Title is from the song "Brother" by NEEDTOBREATHE

“This is precisely why I dislike splitting up,” came Percy’s dismayed-sounding voice from Grog’s side, and the goliath turned to face his human companion. Percy’s coat was flapping in the frigid wind, and snowflakes had begun to dust his similarly-colored hair, but he had a look of grim determination on his face all the same as he loaded his pistol.

The two of them were backed up against a steep cliff face, staring down at the pair of massive yetis bearing down on them. Somehow, what was intended to be a simple scouting mission while the others set up camp had gone significantly downhill.

“Hey, we can take ‘em,” Grog said, drawing his own weapon. The axe glinted in the fading sunlight.

“Your optimism is astonishing,” Percy muttered, firing a shot before Grog could ask him if the last word was a good or a bad thing.

As soon as the gun went off, all hell broke loose, and the world became a fury of blood and fur and growling noises. Grog slipped into the rage of combat, the primary reason for the blur, but was still aware of the piercing sounds of gunshots somewhere nearby him.

He should have gotten more worried when they stopped.

“See, Percy?” he said, planting the head of his axe into the snow after cleaving through the second of the two creatures. “Told you we could--”

He glanced to his side, where the gunslinger should be, and blinked. Percy wasn’t there.

“Percy?”

It was then that he looked down, and realized what had happened.

Percy laid splayed out in the snow, felled at some point in the combat. From the small trickle of blood starting to run through his hair, it seemed his head must have gotten cracked against the rocks behind them. There was also an incredibly nasty gash across his midsection, and one of his legs was bent at a horrible, unnatural-looking angle.

“Percy?” Grog repeated, kneeling down to gently shake his fallen friend. No response came.

Grog took a careful look at their surroundings, noting that the light snowfall that had begun around the time the combat started had already rapidly accelerated into almost blizzard-like conditions. It was going to be very difficult to get back to the others. He knew the danger of harsh weather conditions well. Which meant that he knew making the long walk back to their camp was probably a bad idea. 

They’d passed some caves embedded into the wall of rock behind them on their way here, and assuming he could find a yeti-free one, ducking into one of those until the storm passed was probably their best option.

Carefully, he scooped Percy into his arms, noticing that his injured leg moved almost bonelessly. Shifting his arms slightly to cradle the human as best he could from the whirling snow, he began to walk in the direction of the caves.

There wasn’t much to focus on as he made the trek, other than the weight of Percy in his arms and the other man’s stuttering, shallow breathing. Even unconscious, he sounded pained, and Grog was struck -- as he always was when he found himself in the position of carrying his injured friends -- by just how light Percy felt. It was always worrying to Grog when the others got hurt -- they were so much smaller, so much more fragile than him. He hated feeling one of them bleeding out in his arms. He was the one who could take the big hits, he was supposed to protect them from this.

He hadn’t protected Percy.

“I’m sorry,” he said, though he knew the apology would go unheard. “I didn’t see they got you. I shouldn’t have let them do that.”

There was, of course, no response. But Grog felt a little better for having said it.

The rest of the journey was made in silence, minus the increasing howling of the wind around them, and Grog found himself actually shivering. It worried him to think what might have happened if both he and Percy had been taken down by the yetis -- they wouldn’t have lasted very long in this weather. As it was, he already felt his hands and feet going cold, and knew that there probably wasn’t much time before things got bad for both of them. Fortunately, there was already a cave visible in the distance, and it would only take a few minutes to get there.

Once inside, Grog lay Percy gently on the cavern floor and started inspecting the place carefully. It wasn’t a very big cave, just large enough to protect them from the elements if they retreated to the back, but he still wanted to make sure there were no hidden dangers lurking inside -- usually, he’d be up to fight them, but with a friend in pretty critical condition, it wasn’t the time for that. He was going to have to focus on other things.

Satisfied that there was nothing to worry about, he wandered back to where he’d set Percy and pulled a flint, steel, and some kindling from the bag of holding. All placed in there for emergencies, but he figured being stranded in the cold with an injured party member probably qualified as one. They would need the warmth.

A fire now burning in the cave, he set about digging around for healing potions, knowing that even though one wouldn’t get Percy back to full health, he might be able to get the young man back from the brink he was teetering on -- the wound near his stomach was deep, and had left a trail of blood behind them as they’d made their way to shelter. He’d lost a lot, and Grog knew that if he didn’t do anything about the injury, Percy could bleed out entirely long before they were able to find the others and their healing magic.

He came up empty.

It made sense -- Vox Machina had just had a series of incredibly rough fights, and up here in this remote mountain pass, there hadn’t been an opportunity to stock back up. But it left him in a concerning position -- it would be much more difficult to staunch Percy’s bleeding without magical healing. He reached back into the bag of holding and pulled out one of the more common sets of clothing inside, gritting his teeth as he stuck a corner in his mouth and ripped the cloth to make a makeshift bandage. 

Grog wasn’t much of a healer, but he knew basic triage medicine. He set to work.

 

***

 

Percy’s head was spinning, trying to make sense of the sea of white and blue around him. What was he looking at? 

Oh, it was the sky. Which meant he must be lying flat on his back.

Where was he? 

There was laughter bubbling from somewhere around him, which probably implied he wasn’t in a horrible situation. It sounded too cheerful to be mocking him. In fact it sounded like those responsible hadn’t noticed at all.

“Percival?” came a concerned voice, and for a moment he struggled to figure out who it was. To be entirely fair, his brain felt like it was ringing, and there were strange sparks dancing around his eyes.

“Percival, are you alright?” it said again, and finally he was able to place it -- his older brother, Julius. Which meant he was somewhere in Whitestone, probably near the castle, seeing as he didn’t leave the grounds particularly often.

His brother’s face appeared in his view, staring over him with a worried expression on his face.

“What happened?” Percy mumbled, closing his eyes in an effort to get the swirling lights to go away. They didn’t.

“You don’t remember? The snowball fight?”

Vague memories of what Julius might be referring to swirled through Percy’s head, but everything else was doing so much swirling that he couldn’t pinpoint them. A snowball fight did sound like the sort of thing he and his siblings would have gotten into, but no snowball should have made him feel like this.

“Not exactly,” he said.

Julius reached out an arm to help him up, and Percy obliged, though moving at all made his head spin even worse. Julius seemed to notice, and brought his other arm around to steady his brother and get him into a sitting position, leaning against the tree behind them. For a brief moment, a sense of wrongness flashed through Percy’s mind -- something was screaming that Julius shouldn’t be here, and certainly shouldn’t look like he was fourteen or so. But he shook it off, focusing instead on the pain blooming in his skull.

“You were up in the tree,” Julius explained. “Trying to get a better vantage point, I imagine. But Oliver lobbed a snowball in your direction and it hit you square in the face. You lost your balance completely and fell, and I think you cracked your head on the wall next to you on your way down.”

Well, that would certainly explain the fact that he felt concussed.

“How are you feeling?” Julius asked, looking very worried indeed.

“Incredibly muddled,” Percy said, closing his eyes again and watching the lights in his head swim. “And a little foolish, frankly.”

Julius gave him a small smile, though the concern didn’t quite leave his face.

“We can deal with the foolishness later,” he said “At the moment I think we should get you back to the castle, and possibly to a healer.”

Percy nodded, realizing his mistake instantly as his head exploded in pain. It must have been plastered across his face, because Julius’ smile dropped and he again looked deeply perturbed.

“Let’s get you taken care of,” he said, offering his arm out once more and helping Percy to stand. He felt wobbly and dizzy, so it was quite the effort. But Julius, a head taller than him and significantly stronger (probably from actually delighting in sparring and fencing lessons, unlike Percy who usually tried to get out of them) supported his weight as he lead him back to the path that would take them home.

“I worry about you, you know,” Julius said as they walked.

“Why?” Percy asked.

“I always fear you’re going to get hurt,” Julius said. “This was a simple accident, but it does reinforce my concerns.”

“Me?” Percy said. “Why me? I’m hardly the youngest. In fact, I’m your oldest younger brother.”

“Oh, trust me,” Julius said. “I do worry about all the others. I think it’s my duty as the eldest. But you…. you worry me the most.”

“Why ever would I?”

“Your priorities,” Julius said, “they don’t exactly lend themselves to protection. You know I support and on occasion admire your inventions, but spending all your time perfecting them and avoiding lessons on things like self defense… it seems a little foolhardy.”

“I can wield a sword when I need to,” Percy said defensively.

“Not very well,” Julius said, and though Percy wanted to argue that, he had to admit that Julius was correct. Even Ludwig had disarmed him once.

“If something were to require fighting,” Julius continued, “It concerns me to think that you probably stand the least chance of all of us.”

Percy thought about that for a moment. It was true that of his siblings, he was the least inclined for combat. He holed up in the library while even little Cassandra was known to sneak into the armory. But that being said, he didn’t think of himself as defenseless -- he thought rather highly of his mind, and not without good reason, which seemed like an asset his family sometimes discounted.

“Well, let’s hope it never comes to that,” Percy said instead.

“Percival,” Julius said, giving him a look that nearly pierced through him.

“Yes?”

“At least promise me that, should you find yourself in danger, you’ll seek me out, alright? I feel that I have the capability to protect you, and it would kill me to know that in your time of need it might go unused.”

Percy thought about that for a moment. Julius was, of course, probably not the most capable defender in the de Rolo family. Oh, he was very athletic, a physique born of frequent sparring and excitement over hunting trips. He could wield a weapon better than any of the siblings, partially out of dedication and partially out of having years of practice over the rest of them , particularly the youngest ones. But when it came down to it, he was still a teen -- Father was an adult, and had many more of those years on Julius. And Mother, well -- Percy had been fortunate enough to never have to see her in action, but he had seen her in her armor, on special occasions, and something about her determination and the way she held herself told him that should danger ever come to the family, she would be the most frightening force to be reckoned with.

But this plea did not seem to be one of mere practicality. Julius also knew that their parents were better defenders than him. This request was borne of something else -- a desire that he knew was a significant part of Julius’ personality.

Percy felt somewhat protective of his own younger siblings, of course. On occasion. When they weren’t stealing things from his workshop to plot elaborate pranks. But it was a colder, softer thing than he knew Julius felt. In Julius, the feeling  _ burned. _

The eldest de Rolo sibling would never be described as one to fret or hover. He was too composed for that, already starting to fill the shoes of noble leadership that were expected of him. But despite that, he was still the one the younger ones went to after having nightmares, the one who made an effort to take interest in whatever his siblings felt was important so he could talk with them about it, the one who encouraged them during fencing practice, no matter how shoddy their form.

The one who walked him back to the castle while his head was spinning, talking of protection.

“Percival?” Julius asked again, and Percy realized that he still hadn’t responded to his request.

“I will remember it,” he said, and Julius’ concerned face seemed to ease a bit.

“Do remember,” he said. “Remember that I will do everything in my power to keep you and the others safe.”

Percy was going to respond, but suddenly the lights swimming behind his eyes exploded, and the entire world seemed to spin upside down. In the whirl of pain and confusion, it became hard to focus on words.

All he managed to mumble was a faint “I know you will.”

And a moment later, as the wrongness he’d felt earlier about being in Whitestone -- about hearing his siblings laughter, about speaking with Julius -- crashed over him in waves, he added something else.

“You did.”

 

***

 

Percy awoke once again, this time from his own memories, with no sky visible above him. And once again, he had no understanding of where he was. His head still pounded and his vision still swam, but now he was aware of other sharp pains -- one coming from his right leg, and the other a horrible, burning throb across his stomach.

“Percy?” came a voice next to him, and suddenly he became aware of a heavy weight draped across his shoulders and at his side. Someone was loosely embracing him.

“Hm?” he muttered, eyes flickering with pain and confusion.

“Oh good, you _are_ awake,” the voice said, and Percy found himself able to place this one too -- it was Grog.

“Where are we?” Percy asked, shifting slightly to try to get a better look at their surroundings. It was a horrible mistake -- pain shot through his midsection, and his eyes swam with strange colors.

“One of the caves we saw before,” Grog said. “After you got knocked down by the yetis it started snowing, like, really hard. I didn’t think we could make it back to the others, especially with you all hurt like this.”

Memories of the fight with the pair of yetis started slowly trickling back to Percy -- a terrible set of claws raking across his stomach, tearing flesh and rendering him in too much pain to fire back at his assailant. A heavy paw grasping his shoulder and dashing him across the rocks. Darkness.

“No healing potions?” he said, hearing the weakness in his voice and wanting to flinch.

“I looked everywhere,” Grog said. “But I guess we used them all up. I still tried my best to fix you. You looked pretty bad.”

“I  _ feel _ pretty bad,” Percy said, looking down to examine Grog’s handiwork. 

The remains of what had once been a simple cloak were tied tightly around his deepest wound, attempting to staunch the worst of his bleeding. It seemed to be working well enough to keep him alive for the moment, but the cloth was already deeply stained with crimson.

He could also feel a similar makeshift bandage wrapped around his head, specifically where the sharp throbbing was coming from. Gingerly, he placed his hand on the source of the pain. His vision swam again as he did so, though not enough to keep him from seeing the red that stained his fingers as he pulled them back in front of him.

The final bit of improvised medical care was the way his clearly broken leg was set in front of him, straightened as best as it could be and with a large stick tied to it serving as a simple splint. Nothing could really be done about the pain, but it still encouraged him that every attempt was being made to see to the injury.

“Thank you, however,” he said after taking a look at the care that had been afforded to his condition. “I do believe you’ve managed to save my life.”

Grog gave him a big, toothy smile. “Had to,” he said. “Even if you’re all squishy and stuff, you’re nice to have around.”

“What an encouraging sentiment,” Percy said, a smile creeping across his own lips.

Suddenly, however, Grog’s face took on a serious look.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“Sorry?” Percy said. “Grog, we just established that you saved me. What would you be sorry for?”

“You shouldn’t have gotten hurt in the first place,” Grog said. “That’s my job. I didn’t even notice they got you until you were already down.”

“Grog,” Percy said. “We’ve fought together enough to know that however many hits you can take, the rest of us are going to go down sometimes. It’s a simple fact -- not all our enemies are going to focus on you.”

“I still feel like I gotta protect you,” Grog said. “You’re so small and I don’t want to lose you.”

“I think getting us to shelter, bandaging my unconscious form, and keeping me from bleeding out rather count as protection,” Percy said.

“I guess,” Grog said.

The two of them sat in silence for a moment, watching the flickering fire before them. Grog kept one of his massive arms wrapped around Percy’s shoulder, cradling the smaller man in a careful embrace. Given the cold, Percy supposed it was an attempt to share body heat. He didn’t feel like admitting that it was also very comforting.

“Percy?” Grog said, eventually breaking the peace.

“Yes?”

“Who’s Julius?”

Percy’s heartbeat quickened oddly, not prepared for that question in the slightest.

“Who?” he said, hoping perhaps he’d misheard Grog’s question.

“Julius,” he repeated. “You were mumbling a little while you were out, and you said his name a bunch. Who is he?”

“Was,” Percy said quietly. “ _Was_ he.”

“Oh,” Grog said, clearly noting that Percy’s tone had taken a turn for the distraught.

Percy contemplated whether or not he wanted to say more -- Grog’s silence seemed an indication that he’d let him drop the subject, but at the same time, there was something inside Percy that was burning with a need to share the truth. The memories of his family were permanently tinged bittersweet at best, but the idea that if he kept his silence they’d die with him was an equally sobering one. Perhaps sharing the occasional story could keep them alive in a way Percy desperately needed at times.

“He was my older brother,” he finally said. “The eldest of all of us, actually. He tried a bit too hard to protect me, so I suppose it makes some sense that in a moment of weakness I’d ask for him.”

“How do you try too hard?” Grog said. “Protecting people is a good thing.”

The memories that flooded into Percy’s mind overwhelmed him. A banging on his bedroom door, and a shout for him to wake up if he was sleeping. The sight of Julius in the doorway, clutching a sword with his eyes hardened. Being dragged by his hand through the hall as rushed explanations that their family was under attack made their way into his bleary mind. A figure appearing out of nowhere in front of them. A crossbow aimed at both the boys, and fear freezing him in place. Julius squeezing his hand tightly in reassurance before letting go and charging at the wielder with his sword.

A horrible thud as the bolt made contact with his brother’s throat.

Blood.

Tears.

“You do it at a cost to yourself,” Percy finally choked out.

“Even that’s okay,” Grog said, and Percy glanced back at his face. Grog seemed deadly serious.

“Is that what you think?”

“I know it,” Grog said. “Like, I get that I’m the big one, and kind of the scary one. Which is great! I like being that most of the time! But I also wanna be the one that makes sure everybody else ends up okay. Not because I can heal them up, like Pike or Scanlan or Keyleth, because I can’t, but ‘cause I’m big enough and strong enough to keep bad things from happening to them.”

“Well,” Percy said, unsure how to respond to that. “Thus far you've done a rather good job of it.”

Grog smiled at him, and brought his arm in to draw Percy closer to him. The action strained the wound across his midsection and he winced heavily. But the embrace was still a comfort, and he leaned into it.

“Thanks, Percy,” Grog said.

“Really, I think I should be thanking you.”

“Nah,” Grog said. “It’s nothing really. I’d do pretty much anything to keep you guys safe.”

There was an intense twinge in Percy’s heart, the weight of memories piling on top of him, powerful and inescapable. Of rich brown hair, identical in color to his own at the time, in longer, wavy locks. Of a protective smile, and comforting words. Of a body on the floor in front of him.

The insistence that he was protected again made him feel warm, and safe, and comforted. Loved, even. But the echoes of words that had cost other protectors their lives tinged it with a fear he’d carried with him for a long time -- the fear that the people he saw his family in would meet similar ends.

“You do that,” he finally said. “But please -- also remember that to protect us, sometimes you have to protect yourself.”

Grog reached a hand over and ruffled Percy’s hair, surprisingly gentle about avoiding the bandage and the spot where he’d cracked his head against stone.

“Hey,” he said. “We got outta this one.”

“Yes we did,” Percy agreed.

Percy started to curl into Grog’s side, trying to let the feeling of being embraced drown out the fears and memories that threatened to overwhelm him. To his credit, Grog just tightened his grip on him, heightening the feeling of safety. They stayed like that for a while, listening to the embers cracking in the fire, Percy trying to ignore the pain of both his injuries and his mind.

“Percy,” Grog said. “I know I’m not your other brother. And I know I can’t be. But I can still sort of try to be one, if you want me to.”

Percy twisted his head to face Grog, ignoring the colors that swam in his vision as he did so. “You know? I think I’d like that.”

The storm outside was still howling, a sign that they probably wouldn’t be able to find the others until morning or even later. But the cave was warm, lit by the fire in the center and its energy conserved by the two bodies curled up together. Percy was still in a lot of pain, but took solace in the fact that thanks to Grog, he wasn’t in imminent danger of dying from it. Memories were swirling in his throbbing head to haunt him, but tonight seemed to be one of those rare times that they were less distressing, and more bittersweet.

Satisfied in the knowledge that the danger creeping along the edges of their situation would be kept at bay for the evening -- and wrapped in the protection of Grog’s arms -- Percy let his trauma and anxieties melt away, noticing his eyelids start to get heavy. As he closed them, slipping into a peaceful slumber where his pain would disappear, the last thing he saw was Grog smiling down at him, gently patting his arm.

“Sleep good, Percy,” he said.

And despite that being a frequent challenge for him, he did.


End file.
